Through the Bottom of a Glass OR Beer Goggles
by RisingFire
Summary: Beer goggles, booznoculars, 2:00 pretties, lush crushing, Merle Haggard... whatever you call it: a phenomenom that after a LOT of alcohol, you sleep with a person you would not find attractive sober. Draco Malfoy was familiar with the concept. D/H Oneshot


AN: Look forward to smut, smut, smut! Smut is everywhere! The story is smut! Yeah. I realise now that I should be updating 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon', or finishing off the SEVEN uncompleted Dramione Oneshots, but what the hell. This one just called to me. I wrote it listening to the dirtiest songs I have on my iPod on repeat. I hope you enjoy it! NOW, ON TO THE STORY!

* * *

**THROUGH THE BOTTOM OF A GLASS **

**OR**

**BEER GOGGLES**

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Beer goggles, booznoculars, 2:00 pretties, lush crushing, Merle Haggards…. Whatever you want to call it: the phenomenon in which, after consuming a LOT of alcohol, you end up in the bed of someone you could never consider attractive when sober.

Draco Malfoy was, sadly, quite familiar with this miracle (although generally, rather than sleeping with unattractive females, he often found himself hooking up with- ugh- Gryffindors, or even -UGH- Hufflepuffs! The horror!).

Swallowing down the last of his fourth drink, he twisted round on his stool and surveyed the bar. The Leaky Cauldron was swarming on this type of night- a Friday, schools just having been let out, and the two other pubs in Diagon Alley having closed for the night already.

The Leaky Cauldron, however, stayed open until the early hours of the evening, run by a flock of bartenders running in and out as the night moved on.

This was a fact that Draco knew very well, and that he relished in, as he spotted a giggling group of girls (although they weren't exactly hard to spot, with all the noise they were making) pushing through the tiny door at the other end of the pub. At least fifty percent of the group were blonde.

He grinned.

_Not to stereotype, or anything, of course, _he thought, pushing back his own blonde hair, and giving the rest of the room another quick look to check out the rest of his chances.

Redhead at the end of the bar? Nah, he was pretty sure the guy beside her was her boyfriend; by the way they kept looking at each other, and he didn't really feel like a fight tonight, actually.

The two Asian chicks at the table nearest? Oh, never mind. That answered that. He was all for lesbianism, but he'd rather they be wearing less clothes if they were going to snog in front of him.

He returned to the group of six who'd just entered, and were now twittering away in a booth. The group was made up of three blondes, a pair of redheads, and a lone brunette. One of the blondes he ruled out instantly, on the fact that she kind of reminded him of the daughter of that wacko who wrote 'The Quibbler'. In fact, she might very well have been her, with the movements she was making with her hands.

His gaze moved on. The next blonde he recognised as Hannah Abbot –sorry, Longbottom. He'd never get used to that-, owner of the pub. Married. He crossed her off his mental list.

One of the redheads was a Hufflepuff, he knew, and passed over her. Susan? Sophie? Sarah? Something beginning with 's'. _Kind of plain, anyway,_ he thought.

He had no idea who the final blonde was. Perfect. Hopefully she wasn't a Hufflepuff, but to be honest, at this point, he didn't really care. Hopefully she hadn't even been to Hogwarts, but some other wizarding school, but again, he wouldn't care until tomorrow morning, at least.

He wandered over to the group, dodging happy couples and yelling students, and nodded at Luce, one of the waitresses still up and about. She was a favourite of his, because for a couple of galleons in the tip jar she'd keep a Vodka Cranberry on standby for him when he chose to make his move on a girl. She rolled her eyes, but grinned back at him and hefted her tray high to weave her way to the bar for him to retrieve the drink.

"Evening, ladies," he called them to his attention smoothly, and fought back a smirk as the blonde he was focused on snapped towards him, eyelashes fluttering almost on automatic.

"Hell-o," she said, drawing out the 'l's with an inviting smile, "Do sit down."

"Pretty shlure I knowsh you," the other redhead slurred, and he took notice of her for a second. Ah. A Weasley. Damn. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. Maybe she would be too drunk to notice. Mind you, if she recognised him…

"Malfoy. Dr-" he began suavely, resting his hands on the spare chair at the end of the table.

"Draco Malfoy!" the sole brunette spat, finishing for him, "Go away, Malfoy."

He stared at her.

This was a terrible choice.

He was never going to pick up a girl sitting at the same table as Hermione Granger.

"Shhh, Hermione, let him sit down. Come on, Draco," the blonde rolled the 'r' and clicked the 'c', and pushed the chair he was leaning on out with her stiletto-ed foot, "Sit down."

"Well," he flashed her a smile, "If you insist…"

Before sitting down, he turned and searched for Luce, and within a moment, as she always did, she appeared at his side, a number of drinks on her tray.

"Mister Malfoy?"

"Thank you, Luce. A Vodka Cranberry and a Scotch, please." Before the words were out the drinks were being offered to him, and he winked. "And stay around," he murmured as she turned to go.

"Ever tried a muggle drink,…?"

"Sally-Anne," the blonde filled in for him, "And, no."

"Then this one's for you," he slid the first glass across the table towards her.

Sally-Anne. A Ravenclaw, possibly. Good, although he'd prefer her not to be so smart. The smart ones were always difficult.

The girl sipped at it, smiling over the rim of the glass. Putting the glass down, she licked her lips.

_They all like Vodka Cranberries, _he thought to himself.

"That's enough," Granger growled, "Malfoy, get out."

"Hermione! Don't be so rude!" the blonde swatted at her arm.

"Hey, Granger, chill. Here," an idea sprang into his head, and he pushed his scotch across the table towards her, "I'm sure you'll love it," he smirked, letting her know that this wasn't going to be something she could back out of. A drunk Hermione would be far easier to deal with.

He noticed that the blonde was glowering a little, and wondered if he shouldn't be paying more attention. But suddenly, he couldn't take his eyes off Hermione, as she swirled the scotch around her glass, bit her lip, and tipped the entire thing back.

"Good scotch, Malfoy. Now, leave."

"I don't think so, Hermion-neee." He dragged her name out, and she glared even more furiously at him. "Luce!" He called, and the waitress returned, with two more glasses.

"Vodka Cranberry, and a Scotch, again-"

"Two scotches, actually, Luce."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, glanced at the six women on the table. "So," she asked, a slow smile spreading across his face, "which of you ladies has the nerve to order scotch?"

"Luce-" he warned.

"Sorry, sir," she smiled, "Here you go, Hermione, must be you." She placed the two glasses down on the table.

"Luce!"

"Sorry!" And with that she slid away again.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Hermione said under her breath, as her Weasley friend fell asleep on Luna Lovegood's shoulder.

"Me? Nothing."

In his head, he wondered the same thing; what was he doing? Beside him was a pretty, flirtatious blonde who was practically throwing herself at him, and here he was, trying to get Hermione Granger back.

But his inebriated mind kept drifting back to memories of her at school.

The day in Fourth Year when everyone (yes, everyone- as much as he tried to deny it, he was included in that) noticed her at the Yule Ball; the sweet waves of her hair and the delicious length of her legs.

That time in Sixth Year in the middle of Spring when she and the Weasley girl had gone swimming in the lake, and he and Blaise, the only other two around, couldn't help but stare as they pulled themselves out of the lake; rivulets of water running down their arms and legs, shirts transparent and clinging to them, hair wet and wild, and the biggest grins on their faces.

And that horrific moment when the Snatchers had pulled Hermione into the front room of the Manor and Bellatrix had tortured her and scarred her and written 'Mudblood' on her arm.

He was going to get her drunk and sleep with her, and then he could replace all the memories of the hurt he'd done to her with the best night of her life.

"You're trying to get me drunk. That isn't nothing."

By now Sally-Anne had lost interest in him, and turned around to talk to another guy, but he didn't care at all- he now had something far more exciting to interest him.

"Not at all," he denied, before passing over the accusations, "Come now, Granger, drink up. What are you waiting for?" He leant forward, until his breath tickled her face (girls ate that shit up), and whispered, "You scared?"

She leant back and pushed him backwards with one hand on his face. "You owe me one first, Malfoy."

He smirked -this girl wouldn't care about his smirk. This was a real girl- and, as she watched, leisurely downed his.

She stared at the second glass of Scotch. "No. You are not going to get me hammered on scotch, Malfoy," but still, she knocked it back. "Tell me, what makes you think you're going to get me to sleep with the scum of the earth tonight? What makes you think you're going to be irresistible?"

He thought for a second, and then leaned over the table again, beckoning her to lean into him. Unwillingly, she did so.

"I am irresistible to you, Granger, because you _know _what I can do," his words tickled her face again, and this time she gave a visible reaction, shivering beneath him and fluttering her eyes slightly. She crossed her legs, and he dropped a hand to her thigh, murmuring, "And you love it."

He stayed that way until she surprised him by placing a hand on his own leg and grinning evilly.

_Why not? _She wondered.

Turning her face so that she found his ear, she whispered back, "And what," her hand slid up his leg, "makes me," she paused, tantalizing him, reaching out, withdrawing, letting her fingertips feel his sudden hardness, and then dropping back to his leg, "irresistible to you?"

He let out a strangled breath, checking to make sure this was _Hermione Granger _in front of him, and then she broke the spell: "Goodbye, Malfoy," and stood up to make her way to the bathroom by the bar.

He watched her go, observing her clothes. She wore tights with her black, clingy dress, and flats, unlike the rest of the girls in here. The way she moved in the dress was odd. She obviously wasn't used to wearing something so revealing, and… maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but to him… it made her mesmerizing. She blatantly didn't know how to conceal herself in it, and every time she took a step, her dress rode up a little, and he caught a glimpse of the tiny curve of her bum through her tights.

"Mister Malfoy," the omnipresent waitress appeared at his side again, "You're practically drooling."

"I am not!" he protested, glaring at the waitress. "Don't you have a job to do or something? I swear you spend half your time here being incredibly irritating."

"To be perfectly honest, my shift finishes in eight minutes and I earn more money in tips from you than from actually doing any proper work."

"I hate you."

"I could have you done for slander for that, you know."

"Go away."

"Fine then," she followed his advice, lifting her tray once more and navigating her way to the bar again.

He shook his head and stood up.

"Oh, are you going?" the blonde (he couldn't quite remember her name any more. Something beginning with C? Oh, who cared?) said, turning away from her conversation.

He thought about saying something; being nice, but he had other cauldrons to boil right now. "Yes." He strode off toward the bar, shoving ten galleons in the tip jar on the way over. Behind him he was vaguely aware of Luce's smug beam, but he didn't bother stopping to let her know she was absolutely right.

Tonight he didn't want some scummy blonde, or a redhead with a boyfriend-

He wanted Hermione Granger.

The woman in question made her way out of the bathroom just in front of him, stumbling slightly. She'd only had two scotches, but she didn't seem to be able to hold her liquor at all well.

He caught her wrist, and pulled her towards him, close enough that he could feel her breath catch.

"Malfoy- what are you- oh!" He had her, one hand wrapped gently, just enough to hold her still, around her wrist, and another sliding down to her waist, where his right hand stayed, stroking her through the material of her dress. He felt her heat up beneath his touch, and smiled at her.

"I'll get you, Granger."

Hermione smiled back. "I'm thinking it's rather the other way round, Malfoy… I've got you, actually."

And he couldn't resist anymore. The alcohol streaming through his blood made him forget that he was Draco Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater, and she was Hermione Granger, still of dirty blood; but he became just some guy and she just some girl, both of whom wanted to be somewhere more private…

As his lips fell on hers, there was a pop, and suddenly they weren't in a busy, bustling pub in anymore, but a bedroom that wasn't hers, and he was muttering a spell, but she didn't care about anything at all, because his fingers and the alcohol were doing their job, making her feel warm and tingly at his touch.

"Fuck, Granger, I am going to have you twelve times and back," he said, pulling at the strings on her dress.

"Eager, aren't you?"

He just growled, and pushed her into the wall with his hips, thrusting into the hem of her dress. Down snaked his hand, to the hemline, ripping her tights into shreds with his nails. Up snaked hers, tugging at his shirt buttons, pushing off his blazer, impatiently writhing up and down his chest.

"Oh, God," she groaned, as he left her tights, pulling at the bows on her little black dress, watching it pool at her toes for a moment like a snake, and then moving on to her bra, unclipping it in a second.

He leant back to admire her, and then forward again, kissing his way down her neck, across her collarbone, the lines of her breasts, and along the curve of stomach, around her navel.

Then further, pulling off the rest of her tights as he went, and then off went the final layer, dark lace to match her bra, and she was all curls and heat and anticipation and lust at the same time. He could smell her, smell her arousal, and then he tasted her and his mind went blank, empty apart from the sound of her moaning, the sweet taste of her cream and the burn at the back of his neck from the scotch.

In the back of her mind heavy base beats pounded as she bucked in ecstasy, at the pure velvet tongue of the man whose blonde hair she had to pull to keep her in the same reality, and she ran her hands over his blonde locks, over and over and over again until finally she couldn't take it anymore and she had to let go and- and- and- "Ohhh-" and- "Y-y-yessss-" and-

No-one had ever brought her to orgasm with their tongue before, not Ron, with his clumsy, fumbling advances, not the nameless Quidditch player from the pub, who was sweet and slow, not anyone else, but she wasn't thinking about them, because Malfoy was fast and furious and fucking fabulous-

He looked up at her again, kissing his way up her stomach again, licking her cum from around his mouth, until he reached her mouth again, hesitant suddenly.

She couldn't wait, though, wanting to taste herself on his tongue, on the tongue of this beautiful man, so she pushed forward, nipping and licking and kissing until his mouth was hers.

At some point his slacks had joined the rest of the clothes on the floor, leaving him in just his unbuttoned shirt and a pair of black boxers. She teased him, pulling them down a little and then letting them up again, feeling his prick straining against the fabric with one hand until he whispered to her to stop, stop taunting him, because otherwise he would-

So she let his boxers all the way down, down to his ankles, and, wrapping her legs around his waist, gripping his lovely, muscled arse with the backs of her heels, pulled him into her, eyes wide and rolling into the back of her head again as he touched her sweet spot again, now with his cock.

Probing, filling, pulling them together, he touched the nerves that bought her joy, absolute joy, and then he told her he couldn't hold out any longer, and she said that neither could she, leaning against the wall in his bedroom-

"Malfoy!" His name was strong, start to finish, spilling from her mouth as she came again, this time with him.

"Gr-anger," Her name trembled at the 'r' and rose in intensity until it was louder than loud, filling her ears as he filled her.

They christened his room three times; once there, on the wall; another time a few minutes later on the soft, soft, floor rug, and finally on the bed, where eventually they fell, exhausted, into one another's arms.

He kissed her at every single secret space and more, and she made him roar like a dragon and whimper like a little, lost, puppy.

And then when they woke up they realised what they'd done and said, "Shit."

* * *

_I slept with Draco Malfoy- I slept with Draco Malfoy- I slept with Draco Malfoy._

Malfoy!

Oh, God.

She stared miserably down at his naked, sleeping body, and concluded the following:

One: She was never going to drink again.

Two: She was never going to forgive Hannah or Susan or Luna for letting this happen. Sure, Ginny had been passed out on Luna's lap, and Sally-Anne had been inviting the advances of every other man in the place, but the other three were still in possession of their mental capacities.

And three… He was very good at it, wasn't he?

For the third, as she stared dreamily off at the curtains, she couldn't help but remember his tongue and his hands and his lovely, long-

(Parkinson hadn't been lying)

No!

It took her three minutes and twelve seconds to get dressed, and then she left, slipping out of the door and disappearing with a crack.

The girls would never let her live this one down.

Neither would he.

Mind you, she had some blackmail material of her own, on him, at least…

She smiled at the memory.

"Maybe we should do this again sometime, Malfoy," she said, even though she was back in her own bedroom, with only her cat for company.

And then she fell asleep (on her own bed, this time), still in last nights clothes, dreaming of blonde hair, and feisty waitresses too clever for their own good, and scotch.

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Second AN: Did you enjoy it? I hope you did. If not, I'm sorry. Go and read another of my stories. I'm sure you'll find one you like, and you might as well review all of those while you're there.

Now, press the review button if you want… a cyber sandwich. Yep. Sidebar: Why do I write two of these? Why not just write one, here at the bottom? Well, mainly it's just to bulk out the writing, so it looks like there are more words in the stories… I wonder if anyone actually reads these?

Ramble ramble ramble.

Review, please!

Have a nice day!

~RisingFire


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